Photo by Marie Elena Good | pictured words

December 16, 2020

CHRISTMAS CONTEMPLATION (Sonnet to Creator/Savior/King)

At Christmastime, reflecting on our God,
I see a rich and sumptuous show of grace.
A story so enthralling bids me laud
A baby boy, born in a lowly place.

God simply breathed, and life then came to be.
He spoke-spilled stars that move at His command.
He fashioned sand and man, and shell and sea,
This God who values meek, as well as grand.

So when it came to paying debt of sin,
He chose to do the grandest thing of all
In such a way that awes me deep within:
Majestic use of unforeseen, and small.

A vulnerable newborn was His means,
Born of a humble woman in her teens.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020

“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” ~ Isaiah 7:14

“This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly. But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).” ~ Matthew 1:18-23

“She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” ~ Matthew 1:21

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December 18, 2019

CHRISTMAS’S ONLY PERFECT GIFT

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If one knew not what Christmas was about,
it seems that they’d find little evidence
of Jesus Christ. Not much to make them doubt
the countless signs of our greed’s eminence.

The season focuses on “perfect” gifts,
beginning in our early childhood.
Our storefronts mostly offer toys and glitz,
all tempting us to spend more than we should.

It’s not that I’m a “humbug.” Truly, not.
But when I’m home from shopping, my heart warms.
My focus shifts from things that I have bought,
to what I wish were more the season’s norms.

A Christmas flag portrays Christ’s holy birth.
A swaddled Baby rests in bed of straw:
This One Who Saves, through whom we have our worth,
Whose sinless life fulfilled for us God’s law.

The manger scene glows warm beneath my tree,
while Santa makes his presence known nearby –
his hat removed, head bowed, on bended knee,
in humble awe. Let God be glorified!

Let’s celebrate the birth of God’s own Son.
In Him, our full redemption has been won!

October 24, 2019

HOCKING HILLS AUTUMN 2019 DAY 5 (2)

Photos by Marie Elena Good

Lovers and children
make paper hearts. God uses
all of creation.

#57519
#hockinghills

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October 24, 2019

HOCKING HILLS AUTUMN 2019 DAY 5

Blue Cabin at Frontier Log Cabins.

Silence, except a
crackling fire. Notebook in hand,
thoughts leaking to page.

#57519
#hockinghills
#frontierlogcabins

2 Comments

October 23, 2019

HOCKING HILLS AUTUMN 2019 DAY 4

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Remember “Sky Blue?”
For me, it pales to fall’s skies
I call, “Autumn Blue.”

#57519

#hockinghills
#ashcave

May 12, 2019

Sentimental Longing

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nos·tal·gia /näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/ – noun.
A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

I’d say that everyone looks back on their childhood fondly.
But the unfortunate truth is that is unfortunately untrue,
and that unfortunate truth means I was truly fortunate.
In spite of that wording being almost comically convoluted,
it is written through tears of genuine gratitude.

My parents were simple and loving.
They infused me with a love for simple things.
Perhaps it was the times. Just the way life was.

But I don’t think so.
I think if they were to start over,
this time would be no different.
Family would still be priority.
There would still be no such thing as coming home
to an empty house.
Music would still fill the soul.
All my love, and love me always would still grace every note
in every house we call home.
I love you. You know that.
Yes Mom. I do know that. You lived it every day,
even when Alzheimer’s threatened to erase us
like chalk on a board,
leaving only ghostly swipes.

Longing to return to childhood
for one more day. One more hug.
One more chance to watch Mighty Mouse
T-boned on the floor with Dad,
my head using his tummy as a pillow.
One more turn to curl up in Mom’s lap,
rocked in the very chair that now sits across from me
as I write this poem, longing to hear her voice.
“I love you. You know that.”